Adam Wolf and Sarah Ross were teenage sweethearts who grew up in Cleveland Heights,
Ohio in the late 50’s and early 60's. They set a wedding date when
they turned fifteen. The day came and went. For most of their lives the two
were out of contact.

With their 50th high school reunion approaching, Adam and
Sarah reconnect. Email exchanges - after the first tentative "hi",
then a deluge- five, ten- by the end of the week twenty emails a day. Soon
Sarah admits, "All my life I've been looking for someone who loves me as
much as you did".

Written entirely in email and
texts, Save the Last Danceallows
the reader to eavesdrop on Sarah and Adam's correspondence as their love
reignites. It also permits the reader to witness the reactions of significant
others, whose hum-drum lives are abruptly jolted by the sudden intrusion of
long-dormant passion. Can Sarah and Adam's rekindled love withstand the
pummeling they're in for?

Oh Paul — “L’avventura” continues. No pauses for
breath or thought. Since the last email, this thing with Sarah has detonated.
We are now writing each other all day, every day, sometimes at night, on the
way to work, at work, lunch, at intersections, on the back porch. I spend my
days longing for her messages and panic when an hour goes by without. No more
tentative phrases and innuendo. No more stuff about vague ambiguous longing.
It’s full blown, Paul. Jesus H — it’s sweet passion and sexy -particularly
exciting because we never had the chance in our first go-round way back when.

The day came. We decided it was the right time to
finally see each other — to Skype. I was in Cleveland,
alone. Sarah picked a time when I would call. I brought three changes of
clothes and tried each of them on before we Skyped — stood back from the mirror
and rejected them all. I finally settled on a button-down light blue shirt with
one of those newfangled small-ish collars, and a dark blue crew neck. (I
remembered that Sarah doesn’t like V-necks.) The pants, Izod chinos with the
pleated front and room to grow. I was now prepared with my best Belmondo charm
to woo Sarah into bed.

It
wasn’t like that, though. I don’t know what it was, Paul. Maybe it was modesty,
perhaps fear about what we must look like now to people who last saw us when we
were young. The mask of age. Anyway, whatever it was, when the time came we
both sat in the shadows in our respective rooms and just peered at the camera.
First there was giggling over nothing. Eventually, I decided to thrust my face
forward into the light, regardless of the consequences. Sarah leaned forward
herself for a moment, her hand over her face, just briefly let her eyes show
and stared at me nervously. Later she said she thought me so handsome still. I
told her I would recognize those beautiful baby blues anywhere, if only she
would let me see them clearly.

I
couldn’t really see her face. The light was arranged so only a silhouette was
visible. For a while she resembled someone being interviewed in the witness
protection program. I expected her voice to sound shrill and electronic. “I
foist met Vinnie da Butcher Bugliosi in 1946 at a pizza parlor in Passaic.
He showed me a good time. His last words to me were ‘keep your mouth shut’.”

As
for the rest of her, I conjured up the worst — telling myself I will love her
no matter what. I had visions of Sarah Ross now — cauliflower ears and 7 teeth,
four of which dangled precipitously. I feared her neck would show signs of some
old rope burns from 10 years ago, when she tried to hang herself in the mental
ward.

When
Sarah finally spoke, her voice was soft. Softer than I remembered, sweet, more
confident, deeper. At first she spoke out of the darkness. She said, “It’s you.
It’s really you.” The conversation deteriorated from there. And I said, “It’s
you, really you,” but I wasn’t sure. Except for the voice it could have been
Golda Meier there, for all I knew.When she finally leaned into
the light, I must have lost my breath. I saw her — and despite the few
wrinkles, the face more set in place, she was immediately my girl, her smile
now even sweeter. Her gestures were more refined and confident. She was dressed
elegantly for me — a silky salmon top and a paisley shawl. The years dissolved,
and the fears about age were gone. My Sarah and she beamed at me. We talked softly, nothing sexually charged
about it, just soft remembrance. We imagined that we were back in her sunroom,
with the low red love seat — tamely making out — her hand caressing my belly
but- ton, just under the belt — how we slept together at 15, quite literally,
in that hot room, napping together in the heat — or about her head on my lap
when we watched The Twilight Zone Friday nights — or the path we took
through Cain Park when I carried home her books after school — or the people we
routinely met along my paper route. At
some point, Paul, we stopped talking and simultaneously touched our fingers to
our lips and reached toward the screen.

About the Authors:

Eric
Joseph and Eva Ungar (Grudin) were teenage sweethearts in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, who set a wedding date
when they turned 15. The last time they saw each other they were 21 years old.
Three years ago they reunited, around the time of the 50th high school reunion.
Although their book is a work of fiction, it's about a couple like them, who
fall in love again, almost instantly, via email.

Eric is in public health, a consultant/educator at hospitals and
clinics, concentrating his career on Native American health services across the
country. Evais an art historian who taught at WilliamsCollege in Massachusetts for 40+ years. She
specialized in African and African-American art; the history of European
painting: also Holocaust Studies - memorials and museums; In addition, she has
performed in and written Sounding to A,
a multi-media work about inheriting the Holocaust. It premiered at the Ko Festival
of Performance in 2004.

Learn more about Eva and Eric
and their history together by visiting hargrovepress.com
- At the website you'll find memories about their time together in the late
50s, early 60s, as well as interviews from today.